Fresh Start Series
by DiAnn


Fresh Start - Part 13


Rating: NC17 - SLASH/ language/ BDSM 

Category: Sk/M Slash / Discipline 

Warning: Mulder / Skinner Slash
Severe Discipline. M/O / Mild Non-Consensual Sex
Violence. 

If you don't like this kind of thing, or you are underage, go
somewhere else . . . Please! I don't want to hear from
you and I don't want to hear from your Mama. 

Spoiler: Very little. 

Summary: Spender is out for revenge but gets back more than he
bargained for. 

Disclaimer: I do not, nor ever will, own Mulder, Scully, Skinner,
Krycek or anyone else from the X-Files. I am borrowing them
without permission and am obviously not receiving money for this
stuff. We all know who they really belong to, CC, Fox and lots of
other people but again, not me. 

DiAnn's Discipline Page can be found at Mulder Torture
Anonymous:
http://discipline.tvheaven.com//diann/diann.html
Or the Persuaders Archive :
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Aurora/8903/index.html 

Fresh Start Part 13
By: DiAnn 

Location Unknown 

Walter Skinner opened his eyes, then shut them again quickly as
the bright lights tore into his head. Keeping his eyes tightly shut,
he tried to decide just where he was, and what had happened to
him. 

He remembered leaving his office, walking through the abandoned
parking garage, and then . . .oh shit, a sharp pain in his neck, right
below his left ear. He had reached for the offending source of the
pain and pulled away a bloody dart. Then there was nothing but
darkness. 

The AD took a deep breath to still his rolling stomach, then
opened his eyes again, slowly this time. He was chained to a
straight back chair, in a large, open room. Concrete floors, dust
thick on the few remaining crates and bits of office furniture
scattered about. The place had that desolate smell about it so
common in deserted buildings. Abandonment! Isolation! Danger! 

The AD pulled at the chains that bound him to the chair. They
didn't budge, and apparently the chair was bolted to the floor. It
too was completely immovable. 

Skinner eyes snapped to the door as it opened to admit two very
large men dressed all in black. Mulder would be jealous. A
hysterical need to laugh following fast on the heels of that ironic
thought. Get a grip, he chastised himself. He could not afford to
lose it now. 

"So you're finally awake, Mr. Skinner." 

The AD's neck practically snapped as he turned to the voice that
had spoken from behind him, the smell of cigarette smoke now
overpowering the other smells of a building in long disuse. 

"What the hell do you want?" 

"Just a friendly chat, Mr. Skinner. You see I know that you broke
into the Duluth facility, and now you have to be punished for your
disloyal and foolish actions." 

"I didn't break into any facility, anywhere. You need to check
your sources more closely." 

"Perhaps, but I think not. Oh, I know you didn't do the deed
yourself, but I believe the men who did were under your direct
orders." 

"That's a load of shit and you know it!" 

"Do I? I could tell the Group about my suspicions I suppose, but I
think I much prefer to handle this myself. Man to man, just
between friends. We are friends are we not, Mr. Skinner?" 

"I choose my friends more carefully than that." 

"Pity." The cigarette man walked around in front of his prisoner,
reaching into his pocket, then laying something on the table just to
the left of Skinner's chair. It was a black paddle. A beautiful
instrument actually. Made of a glossy hard wood with a patch of
ribbed rubber covering the center of the striking area. 

"It's my favorite, Mr. Skinner. Looks can be so deceiving don't
you think? I mean on first inspection my little paddle looks so
common, so ordinary." The Smoking Man picked up the paddle
and held it up to the light. Tiny holes were drilled over the entire
surface of the implement. 

"I've brought hardened assassins to tears in less than a minute with
this paddle. No one that I've ever honored with its use has been
able to walk away afterwards. The normal recovery time is three
days. That's why I've arranged a little vacation for you." He
smiled evilly. "Three days to be exact." 

"You're not touching me with that thing, you son-of-a-bitch." 

"You have to be punished, Mr. Skinner. I can't let you just break
into one of my facilities without so much as a word of censure. I
would lose my credibility as a major player." 

"You touch me with that thing and you'll lose more than your
status, you'll lose your life." 

"Please Mr. Skinner, your threats do become so tiresome over
time. After all, we've trusted you with one of our most valuable
assets and you can't even control your own actions. Perhaps we
need to find a new Master for Fox." 

"You leave Fox out of this, you bastard." 

"Do you even know where your slave is at the moment, Mr.
Skinner?" 

"He's in the field on a case. He didn't have anything to do with
your break-in, nor did I. Now I suggest you stop all this nonsense
and let me leave here." 

"Not quite yet, Mr. Skinner. But I have to admit your have
convinced me on one point, I really can't use this exquisite paddle
on you. It would be most unseemly for a man in your position." 

Skinner had to sniffle a relieved sigh. He couldn't relax his guard
completely until they unchained him and he could get out of here. 

The Smoking man smiled at him as he snapped his fingers. The
door opened immediately, and one of the men reentered the room
with a body slung over his shoulder. A long, lean and easily
recognizable body. Fox Mulder. 

Skinner pulled frantically at the chains that held him to the chair.
"He doesn't have anything to do with this! Don't you touch him
or I'll . . . " 

"Yes. Yes." The Smoking Man waved a dismissive hand in the
AD's direction. "You've already told me, you'll kill me. Kill me
if I touch you. Kill me if I touch your slave. Really, most tedious,
I assure you. And besides, Mr. Skinner, what are slave boys for
other than to make the lives of their Masters easier? Your slave is
going to make your life easier by presenting his own bare bottom
up to receive punishment in your stead. And then you will have
three days to get him back on his feet and back at his job. Very
generous of me, don't you think?" 

Skinner watched as the man carrying Mulder laid him down on the
sturdy wooden table in front of them. The man immediately began
stripping off his jacket and tie. 

"I'll take your damned punishment!" Skinner hissed between
gritted teeth. "I don't want you to touch him, do you hear me?" 

"I could hardly not hear you Assistant Director, the way you're
shouting at me. But I must admit, I'm having a hard time
understanding how a Master of your reputation would want to be
paddled instead of his slave." 

"No one touches him but me!" 

"So you've said. But that was before you got yourself in this little
dilemma now wasn't it? I'm afraid my decision has already been
made." 

The AD watched as his slave's shoes and socks were removed, the
agent's face looking smooth and angelic as he lay unconscious on
the hard table. At least he was unaware of what was happening to
him. 

"Do you want the rest of his clothing off, Mr. Spender?" 

Cancerman stood, studying the attractive young man. "Just his
pants, I think. I'll take care of the rest myself." He turned back to
Skinner who was still ineffectively pulling at his restraints. "Do
stop struggling, Mr. Skinner, you're going to injure yourself, and
then how will you take proper care of our dear Fox?" 

The two men pulled off Mulder's pants, leaving him in dress shirt
and boxers, hands secured with cuffs behind his back. Then he
was lifted to hang between the two larger men. 

"Wake him up now, James." 

The black clad man produced a small bottle, which he held under
the agent's nose until the man began to choke and gag from the
caustic fumes. 

"Better keep that bottle handy James, I think we'll be needing it
several times before the night is over." 

As Mulder's hazel eyes cleared, they focused on Skinner chained
to the chair. A look of sheer panic came over his face as he fought
to break the grip of the men who held him. "Sir? What?" 

"It's all right, Fox. Just stay calm." 

The Smoking Man laughed, the sound raspy and rough from too
many cigarettes and too little practice. "I hardly think he'll be able
to remain calm while my little paddle is working its black magic
on his bare backside, Mr. Skinner." 

Most of the color drained from the agent's face, his eyes going to
Skinner for answers. 

"I told you to let him go. I'll take your punishment. It's me you
blame for your little problem, you know he had nothing to do with
it." 

"Irrelevant, Mr. Skinner, he's a slave, it's his duty to take
punishment." The evil old man turned to where Mulder struggled,
still held tightly by the two large bodyguards. "One of my secret
laboratories was broken into, Fox, and now someone has to be
punished for the deed. I propose to give you a very thorough and
extremely painful thrashing tonight. But I'm a fair man, I'm
willing to give you a choice. Would you prefer that your overly-
lenient Master take your place for the chastisement?" 

"Why us? We didn't break into your lab." Mulder looked to his
Master for reassurance, but could read nothing from the chiseled
features. 

"You're splitting hairs, Fox. Now who gets punished tonight, you
or your Master? I'm afraid what I have in mind will be quite
harsh. This is your one chance to avoid it, Fox. Who will it be?" 

"I told you," Skinner barked. "I'll take your damned punishment." 

"No! No, I'll take it." 

"Mulder!" Skinner barked in his best AD voice. "I'll make this
decision! You just keep quiet." 

"Too late, Mr. Skinner. Fox has made his decision. You are
fortunate to have a slave who knows his status and reveres his
Master. I think I envy you more every day." 

"Do you want him bent over the table, Mr. Spender?" 

"Good heavens no. He's much too beautiful for that. I want him
across my knees. I want to feel him writhing on my lap as I set
that sweet bottom on fire." 

"Please don't do this." All eyes snapped to the Assistant Director
as the merest hint of a sob could be heard in his pleading voice. 

"Why, Mr. Skinner, I do believe you are quite distressed for your
little slave boy. How touching. Perhaps next time you want to
double cross me, you'll think twice." 

Cancerman took a seat in the straight back chair a scant two feet in
front of Skinner's bound position. He locked eyes with the AD as
he motioned for his men to bring Mulder over to him. 

"Fox, are you ready to take your Master's punishment?" 

Mulder swallowed hard, his face pale, voice shaky. "I already told
you that was what I wanted." 

"Very well then, over you go." 

The old man helped his men position the young agent over his lap,
the agent's bound hands making him awkward as he struggled into
position. Cancerman shifted his knees until the proffered bottom
was situated just right for striking. He carefully pushed the white
dress shirt far up the long, smooth back. 

"Now, Mr. Skinner, I expect your full cooperation tonight. Every
time you choose to disobey an order, your slave will receive a
dozen extra strokes with my paddle. On top of what he will
already receive, I'm afraid he won't be able to withstand too much
insubordination on your part. Now, instruct me to remove his
boxers so that he can be properly disciplined on his bared bottom.
A slave boy should always feel the paddle on bare skin." 

"I can't . . ." 

"Mr. Skinner, this is your last warning." 

Skinner took a deep breath, his mind searching for any way to save
Mulder. Then he heard a soft voice. "Do it, Master." 

He looked up to see Mulder's intent face, flushed from his upside
down position over the older man's knees, but still full of
determination to see this through. Too survive yet again so that
they could fight another day. 

Skinner took a deep breath, summoning all his courage to make his
voice firm and full of authority. "You may take down his boxers.
All Fox's punishments are given on the bare. I'm his Master, and
it's what I demand of him." 

He could see the shadow of a small smile play around his slave's
lips, as the Cancerman frowned at him ominously. They locked
eyes for a few long seconds, then the old man turned away hooking
his fingers in the band of Mulder's underwear, pulling them down
to his knees. One of his men stepped in quickly to pull them
completely off. 

"Spread your legs widely apart Fox, and don't move them during
your punishment. I want full access to your bottom at all times.
Your Master has made a grave error and it is only right that the
punishment for that misjudgment should be harsh." 

Both Mulder and Skinner cringed as the Cancerman ran a paper-
dry hand over the smooth flesh now spread out so completely for
his enjoyment. For enjoy this he would. 

He raised the hand from Mulder's readied backside, holding it out,
palm up. One of his minions immediately laid the deadly black
paddle in his hand. 

"Thank you, Raymond." He locked eyes with the Assistant
Director once more. "You will tell me when to begin, Mr.
Skinner, and count each stroke. You will have to do so in a strong
voice, I'm afraid the poor boy will be screaming quite loudly very
quickly." 

Skinner ground his teeth together, wishing Mulder's theories of
pyrokinesis were true so he could burn the old man to charred
cinders where he sat. 

"Get on with it, Spender." Voice the consistency of ground glass. 

"Well that wasn't very civilized but I suppose it will have to do.
Don't lose the count Mr. Skinner or I shall be forced to start over
from the beginning." 

The Smoking Man raised the paddle high over his right shoulder,
hesitated as if zeroing in on his intended target, and then brought
the diabolical implement down with all his strength in the very
center of the unprotected right buttock. 

The reaction of the black paddle's hapless recipient was
immediate and dramatic. Mulder's entire body arched up so that
he lay flat on the old man's bony lap, his bound hands fisting as he
raised then helplessly into the air behind his back. He didn't
scream, but Skinner could see that he had bitten down hard on that
often abused, bottom lip. A sheen of perspiration broke out on the
slave's pain-contorted face. 

Skinner felt sweat begin to run down his own forehead, as he saw
a bright patch of blistered flesh standing out clearly on the once
white bottom. 

"One". 

The paddle resumed its elevated position above the now quivering
target in its direct path. The room was deathly quiet, as if no one
dare breath until the paddle had finished its stroke. It came down
with a thunderous crack, this time in the exact center of the left
cheek, achieving much the same reaction from the slave. Only this
time the long legs kicked several times as the pain insinuated itself
deep into the twitching muscles of the punished buttock. 

Again Mulder made no sound and Skinner wondered how much
more his poor lip would be able to take. His bottom was already a
fiery red after only two strokes. 

"Two." 

The paddle rose and descended again. This time Mulder
screamed, tears running freely down his handsome face. 

"You should be very proud of your slave boy Mr. Skinner, he did
quite well. Most men scream at the first stroke." 

Skinner chose not to acknowledge the blatant taunt. "Three." 

The paddle rose and fell with a steady rhythm, each stroke tallied
calmly and precisely by Skinner's even voice. 

"Ten." "Eleven." "Twelve." 

Mulder had long ago forgotten anything but the waves of pain
radiating from his flaming bottom. Each stroke of the horrible,
hole-riddled paddle adding blisters, on top of blisters, on top of
blisters with each unbearably painful stroke. 

"Nineteen," "Twenty." "Twenty-one." 

His whole world became his Master's unwavering voice, and the
two mounds of blistered flesh presented so invitingly up into the
air, cringing as they awaited each new assault of the Smoking
Man's cherished paddle. Mulder could hear someone screaming
and was only vaguely aware it was himself. 

"Twenty-five." Twenty-six." "Twenty-seven." 

He had inadvertently closed his legs twice. Each time the
Cancerman had stopped the proceeding to deliver several stinging
and uncounted strokes to the insides of both of his thighs. Now he
had to fight his natural instincts to close his widely-spread legs in
an effort to protect the most tender parts of his burning, stinging
backside. And Spender took good advantage of the delicate skin
left exposed by this wide-open position. The paddle had visited
the vulnerable crevice of his bottom over and over again, up one
side and down the other, until he had become practically hysterical
with the pain of it. 

"Thirty-three." "Thirty-four." "Thirty-five." 

Not one inch of his defenseless bottom had been spared, from the
top of his cheeks to the middle of his thighs, his skin sizzled. His
cock and balls were caught between the old man's thighs, carefully
kept away from the two suffering mounds of bare flesh that had
been so cruelly offered up as a sacrifice to the Cancerman's
vindictiveness. Now the old man concentrated his strokes on the
sensitive anus, perineum, and the delicate skin on the top inside of
his thighs where Mulder's balls usually hung. Where the true
superiority of the paddle would be long and painfully remembered.
He could feel his body quaking as he was thoroughly tortured. 

"Forty-one." "Forty-two." "Forty-three." 

A terrible thought struggled forth from Mulder's pain filled brain.
What if Spender didn't stop at fifty? The miserable agent had
been certain that it would be over at twenty-five but the man
hadn't even hesitated. What if he planned to give him a hundred
strokes? Mulder became hysterical again, screaming even more
loudly and scissoring his legs wildly in the air. As quickly as the
hysteria had hit him, it receded, leaving him hanging limply over
his chastiser's lap. All the fight beaten out of him. His body
merely jerking spasmodically as each new slap of the paddle added
fuel to a fire already burning out of control on his ravaged buns. 

"Forty-nine." "Fifty." 

Skinner was praying that the man would stop but he didn't dare
say anything. The old man was just evil enough to keep going if
asked to show some mercy. 

Spender did stop, looking down at his handiwork proudly. The
well-beaten bottom still writhed frantically across his knees, the
quivering muscles contracting and releasing as if they had a mind
of their own. The bound hands straining to reach the burning
cheeks, desperate to rub away any small part of the terrible source
of anguish that his backside had now become. 

Spender very much doubted the young agent was still chilled from
the cold room. His bottom was putting off enough heat to warm
most of D.C. at the moment. And that color! That glorious,
smoldering shade of hot, burning red. Every square inch of
delicate skin, even those most private areas usually kept hidden
and protected, had been mercilessly exposed and made to
experience the wrath of the black paddle. There was just nothing
like it. Nothing more appealing than a beautiful young man with a
blazing, scarlet bottom. 

Well maybe there was one thing prettier, and he was going to see
that right now. He snapped his fingers as his two goons
immediately came forward to lift Mulder off his lap and deposit
him face down on the hard, wooden table. They uncuffed the
agent's hands, immediately securing them to the legs of the table.
The agent's own discarded jacket shoved under his hips to help
cushion his dangling cock and balls from the sharp edge of the
table. 

Cancerman walked up to stand in front of Skinner, an evil smirk
on his craggy face. He reached into his pocket once more, this
time pulling out several foil-wrapped packages of condoms and a
tube of lubrication. 

Skinner felt his face drain of color. "Are you going to rape him?" 

"Good heavens no, not I. I've known him since he was born. His
mother and I were very close friends. I just wouldn't feel right
about having sexual intercourse with him." He smiled at Skinner's
relieved look. "I did however promise James and Raymond a little
bonus for their hard work in my behalf these past few months." 

"No, please don't hurt him like that." 

"He's a slave now, Mr. Skinner. Slave boys are meant to be used
for the sexual gratification of other men. Surely your training of
him has covered that responsibility. And frankly, how much he
gets hurt will be up to you." 

"What do you mean by that?" 

"It's going to up to you to prepare him for the enjoyment of my
associates." 

Skinner glanced over at the large men who were now waving the
smelling salts under's Mulder's nose once more. 

"Of course we would have to unchain you for that, and we
couldn't possibly do that without your complete assurance that you
would not let that unruly temper of yours get out of control. So
what will it be Mr. Skinner. Several dry, painful penetrations for
our little Fox, or will his Master lovingly prepare him to be used
like the slave boy he is?" 

Skinner looked over to see a fully cognizant Mulder, eyes full of
panic, staring at him pleadingly for help. 

"Unchain me. I'll take care of him. But you tell your goons that I
call the shots on this. They do it my way." 

"Are you really in a position to throw your weight around, Mr.
Skinner?" 

"You wanted my cooperation, I'm giving it to you. I expect yours
in return." 

"I like you, Mr. Skinner." The Smoking Man took a final drag on
his ever present cigarette, letting it fall to the floor to be crushed
by the toe of his expensive, hand-made shoe. "I agree to your
demands, but must be some limits. My men get to take your boy
as many times as they want. You may attend to him between each
penetration. They will not damage him but I will also not require
that they be overly gentle. A slave should come to expect rough
sex on occasion. Now, do you agree to my terms?" 

"I don't see that I have a choice." 

"James, unchain Mr. Skinner so he can prepare his slave for your
enjoyment. And I want one of you to keep your gun pointed at Fox
at all times. It will help his Master to remember to control his
temper." 

Skinner immediately pulled the chair up to sit by Mulder's head.
Soothingly running his finger's through the man's sweat-soaked
hair. He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket, wiping away
the sweat and tears from the agent's face. "I know you aren't
going to like this Fox, but I want you to close your eyes and
pretend it's me taking you. I won't let you get hurt. You have to
trust me to take care of you and then we'll get out of here. Can
you do that for me?" 

Mulder stared balefully into his Master's face, then slowly nodded
his head, closing his eyes, then resting his cheek against the table
top. 

Skinner kissed Mulder on the side of his head, then moved behind
him, lube in hand. He applied a generous amount to his fingers
and began to gently work it into his tense slave. Mulder hissed
with pain, making Skinner cringe. Even as careful as he was being
with the red, raw skin, he knew he was hurting the freshly
punished man terribly. Finally after several long minutes, he felt
Mulder begin to relax under his gentle hands. 

"Will you hurry up with it," James complained as he nervously
danced from foot to foot. Much too eager in Skinner's opinion. 

Skinner looked over to the Cancerman who stood smoking and
watching the proceedings intently. "You better tell your boy to
calm down. If he hurts Fox, he won't live to see his next
birthday." 

Spender nodded, but said nothing to the impatient James. 

When Skinner had Mulder as stretched and relaxed as he was
going to get, he turned to the waiting James handing him two
packages of condoms. "Double bag it. I'm not taking any chances
with him. And since you're first, I expect you to go easy on him
this time. Got it?" 

James started to protest but changed his mind at the dangerous
look in the big AD's eyes. What the heck, he planned to have
more than one go at the pretty boy anyway. He'd take it easy this
first time. "Yeah, I got it. No problem." He grabbed the
condoms, complaining that he wasn't going to be able to feel a
thing through all this latex. No one seemed interested in
acknowledging his complaints. 

Skinner moved back to sit by Fox's head, kissing him and
whispering assurances into his ear while he kept one eye on James,
who, as agreed, penetrated the pretty agent slowly and carefully. 

Mulder hissed in pain as the man entered him, and then again as
the other's groin shoved up against his sore buttocks. Skinner
continued to console him, wiping the new tears away as quickly as
they came. 

It took an embarrassingly short time for the overly-stimulated
James to find his release, double latex or not. He pulled out,
stepping aside as Skinner came around to make sure no damage
had been done. 

He added more lubrication, handed two condoms to Raymond who
stood waiting patiently. With one warning glare at the big man,
Skinner moved back to take his place by Mulder's head. These
men had no idea how he planned to make them pay for this.
Because, as sure as he still breathed, he would make them pay. 

Mulder whimpered throughout Raymond's assault on his body.
Even Skinner's soft words were not enough to block out what was
actually happening to him. 

When the man had finally finished and withdrawn, Skinner stood
to move behind his agent. He was stopped by the Smoking Man. 

"One moment Mr. Skinner, I think our little slave boy needs a few
lashes with my strap. It appears his bottom is losing some of its
lovely crimson color." 

"No!" 

"Really, Mr. Skinner, I told you he wouldn't be walking out of
here on his own. What difference could a few more welts make on
that well-chastened bottom at this point?" 

Skinner was sure he was going to grind his teeth into powder, as
the Cancerman moved behind Mulder, a well-oiled leather strap
dangling from his right fist. 

"Six, I think. You're lucky you submitted, Mr. Skinner. One more
word, and I would have made it twelve." 

Mulder didn't know what was happening until the vicious strap
descended on his tenderized butt. He felt his Master gently
stroking his hair, but it wasn't enough to counteract the cruelty of
that terrible strap. Mulder screamed until he was hoarse and then
he screamed some more. 

James managed to get erect two more times, while Raymond
contented himself with only one more bout with the beautiful,
slave boy. Both men felt honored. They knew how many other
men in the Consortium lusted after this particular slave. 

The only mercy of the evening was that Cancerman hadn't used
his strap again. He might have professed to being unmoved by
Skinner's threats of violence but he had clearly seen the truth in
the Assistant Director's eyes the first time he had lashed the
helpless, wounded man. Skinner knew the old man was
disappointed. He had loved using that strap on Fox, he had seen
that in his eyes. 

Finally it was over. Mulder was insensate and Skinner was well
beyond grief and anger. 

The Smoking Man threw the handcuff keys to Skinner as he and
his henchmen backed out of the door. "Consider the slate wiped
clean, Mr. Skinner. I hope you learned a lesson from all this. I'm
sure Fox won't forget it for a while." 

Skinner quickly released his nearly comatose agent. Mulder's
much abused anal opening was red and swollen, but thanks to his
diligent Master there was no bleeding. He would be fine in . . . in
about three days. 

Skinner gently lifted the limp body into his arms, his heart
breaking as the man whimpered piteously. "I'm so sorry, Fox."
Skinner voice broke on a sob. 

"I'm . . .fine, sir." 

Skinner hugged the naked man closer to his chest, his heart near to
breaking. The two men in black had taken Mulder's clothing with
them for some reason. Probably in one final cruel attempt to
humiliate the slave boy. It was a wasted effort, Mulder was
beyond caring at this point. 

Skinner hurried outside to find his car waiting for him. He laid
Mulder carefully in the back seat, grabbing an old blanket from the
trunk to wrap the injured man. Then he started driving north. He
had no intention of taking Fox back to his apartment. He didn't
trust Spender not to come after them again. The old man had
enjoyed this evening far too much. 

Skinner drove mindlessly for over two hours before he began to
hear soft moans from the backseat. He pulled over at the first
convenience store, buying painkillers, bottled water and a bag of
ice. He forced the pills down Mulder's throat, then fashioned a
make-shift ice pack, placing it gently on his slave's ravaged
backside. 

He pulled around to the side of the building, driving the car as
close as possible to the pay phone located there. He made three
phone calls, got back in his car and headed north once more. 

He had a long drive ahead of him but that was fine, he had a lot of
revenge to plan. He only hoped Mulder didn't wake up again
before they reached their final destination. 

* * *

Skinner pulled the car up in front of the neatly painted clapboard
Pennsylvania farmhouse, just sitting wearily behind the wheel for a
moment staring at his boyhood home. There were lights on inside,
which meant his Uncle Hugh had waited up for him after the
phone call. He wished he hadn't done that. The drive had taken
hours and Walter had stopped on several occasions to check on
Mulder and force more of the painkiller down him. It was now
approaching daybreak. 

Sighing wearily Skinner got out of the car and retrieved his
sleeping slave from the backseat. Mulder had mumbled something
to him about being able to walk, but Skinner had just ignored him,
too tired to argue right then. 

Walter didn't make it all the way to the door before it was opened
by a man wearing pajamas and a robe. A man who looked
remarkably like the AD himself, except for the thick shock of
snow-white hair on his head. 

"Come on in, son." The older man studied Mulder carefully where
he lay cradled against his Master's broad chest. "Put him upstairs
in your old room. Is there anything I need to get for you?" 

"Do you have any extra flannel pajamas around the house?" 

"Sure do. I'll bring them right in to you. Do you want to tell me
what this is all about now, or do you want to wait until you've
gotten some rest?" 

"I could really use some food, Uncle Hugh. That is if you aren't
too tired. You shouldn't have waited up for me, I have a key." 

"Retired farmers don't have to get up at the crack of dawn
anymore, Walt, but it doesn't bother us either. You get your young
friend settled, then come to the kitchen. I'll have something ready
for you by the time you get there." 

Skinner came into the kitchen a few minutes later to find his uncle
frying eggs in the old iron skillet that Walter remembered from his
youth. The man turned and pulled his exhausted nephew into an
loving hug. "Sit down, son. I have some fresh coffee and your
breakfast should be ready in a minute." 

Skinner poured his coffee and took a seat, a couple of minutes
later a huge plate of bacon, eggs and toast appeared in front of
him. 

"Is that the boy, Walt?" 

Skinner looked up at his uncle. The older man had taken the chair
directly across from his nephew, a cup of coffee cradled in his still
powerful looking hands. 

"That's him." 

"You know I don't hold with that sort of thing, son." 

"I know and I'm sorry, Uncle Hugh. I didn't write to tell you
about Mulder to cause you any distress. I just didn't want to keep
someone that is so important in my life a secret from you. I didn't
expect your approval." Walter ran a hand over his smooth head.
"I know I shouldn't have come here. I needed somewhere to lay
low for a couple of days, just until he's feeling better, and I
couldn't think of anyplace else." 

"You never have to be sorry for coming home, Walt. Now what
happened to him?" 

Skinner told his uncle briefly what had happened, leaving out
some of the more unbelievable details about Cancerman and the
Consortium. It was still sounded absurd, even to Skinner's ears. 

"I can't say I like the company you're keeping these days, son." 

"Are you talking about the Consortium or Mulder?" 

"I have to admit he's a good-looking young man. I can see where
he would have been able to tempt you to . . ." 

"No, Uncle Hugh. It isn't like that. I know you want to believe he
lured me into some king of sexual trap but the truth is, I'm the first
man in Fox's life but he wasn't my first." 

The retired farmer looked down at his hands. "I see. It's hard for
an old man to understand all this Master/slave nonsense, Walter.
Truthfully, the whole thing is just hard for me to get a handle on at
all." 

Skinner chuckled. It was a hard, dry sound that was a far cry from
the sound of amusement it should have been. "It's difficult for me
to understand myself, Uncle Hugh. Just know that neither Mulder
nor I had any choice in that Master/slave matter. If I don't play
their game, I put Fox in danger. I won't do that." 

His uncle was nodding his head but Walter was sure the older man
still didn't understand or approve in the least. He rubbed a big
hand over his tired face wishing he could just go upstairs and curl
his body around Mulder's in that big, soft bed. 

"Look, Uncle Hugh, just give me a couple of hours and I'll have
him out of here. I'm really sorry. I just wasn't thinking straight
when I decided to come up here." 

The older man looked down at his hands. Then he studied his
nephew and was shocked to see him fighting exhausted tears.
Hugh hadn't seen that boy cry since his Mom had died more than
thirty-five years ago. 

"Can you forgive an old fool, son?" 

Skinner head snapped up, "What? Uncle Hugh, you don't have to
apologize for . . ." 

"Yes I do. I raised you to be your own man and the minute you
make a personal decision about your life that I don't agree with, I
let you down. All I can say is, I'm sorry, son. I should have had
you bring that boy up here months ago. I'd just assumed that after
Sharon you would find a nice woman who could make you happy." 

Skinner told a deep breath, suddenly finding the eggs on his plate
too interesting to pull his eyes away from. "Fox does make me
happy, and the truth is Uncle Hugh, there's a woman too." 

Skinner didn't dare look up in the few moments of stunned silence
that followed. 

"Well you are a busy boy down there in Washington aren't you?
What's she like?" 

"She's Fox's partner. Short, feisty, looks like a red-headed Barbie
doll. She's smarter and tougher than most men I know. She's
absolutely devoted to Fox and seems to even love me in spite of
my many faults. 

"And where is she now?" 

"At the moment, she's probably madder than a wet hen. I had her
picked up by some agents I knew I could trust, and escorted to a
safe-house. I made the call at the same time I called you. I didn't
trust Spender not to come after her when he found out I'd taken
Fox and gone underground." 

"You can't stay hidden, son. And won't this be the first place they
look?" 

"No, this place doesn't show up on any of my personnel records.
I've always used Aunt Claudia's address as my family home." 

The tears were back in Walter's eyes. Hugh moved around to take
the chair next to him, pulling him into a fatherly embrace. The
younger man tensed for a few moments before lowering his head
to the familiar, comforting shoulder, the first sob escaping his lips. 

"They . . .they made me count the strokes they gave him out loud.
I had to keep my voice steady. I knew Mulder would be listening
to me and if he knew how upset I was, it would increase his fear.
That old man was hurting him so badly, his poor butt just getting
redder and more blistered. I've never seen anything so red in my
life. And Fox was crying and struggling to escape. He's always so
brave, and there he was, reduced to begging his worst enemy to
stop hurting him And I had to watch it all, every second of it. If I
closed my eyes or looked away, I might have missed the count,
and I knew that bastard would start over if I did." 

It had been a very long time since Hugh Skinner had seen his
nephew so distraught over anything. The injuries he suffered
during his stint in Viet Nam, the death of both of his beloved
aunts, the breakup of his marriage, all had been faced with a dry-
eyed stoicism that frankly, had worried his uncle. But it was clear
this experience had almost broken the man. 

"And then I had to help them rape him. I helped them! I kept
talking to Fox about anything that came in my mind, desperate to
keep his mind off what was happening to him. But I had to watch,
I had to stay focused on everything they were doing. I was his only
protection." 

Walter gritted his teeth so hard Hugh was afraid they were going to
crumble to dust in his mouth. "I wanted to kill them! I wanted to
kill them all!" 

Hugh held the sobbing man tightly against his still massive chest.
"Let it out son, let it all out. That boy's going to be fine. You did
good Walter, real good, and I'm proud of you." 

"No . . .no thanks to me." 

"From the sounds of it . . .every thanks to you." 

When the tears finally stopped to a few hiccupping breaths, Hugh
patted his nephew's back and rose to make another pot of coffee,
giving the proud man he had raised a chance to pull himself
together. 

"Thanks Uncle Hugh. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this.
I know you . . ." 

"You don't know half about me that you think you do. If that boy
upstairs means this much to you, then in my book that makes him
family. Family takes care of family." 

Skinner felt like he might cry again. Damned disgusting! "There
is one other thing, Uncle Hugh. I have a couple of friends who
will, in all likelihood, show up here. They're probably going to
seem a little agitated. Don't shoot them, okay?" 

"Walter, they're not more . . ." 

Skinner smiled, "No, they're just friends. I think Fox and Dana are
enough at the moment." 

"Well, I should think so, Walter. Now go get some sleep before
you fall down in your tracks. That boy upstairs needs you." 

* * *

Hugh Skinner put down his newspaper to answer the frenzied
knocking on his front door. He was immediately shoved aside by
an angry young man in a black leather jacket. "Where is he?
Where's Fox?" 

"Krycek!" Marcus snarled, "You treat Walter's uncle with some
respect or you'll answer to me. You got that, boy?" 

Alex glared at Marcus Perry, formed a caustic remark on the tip of
his tongue then thought better of it at the look in Marcus' eyes.
"Yeah well, sorry. We're here to see . . ." 

Marcus elbowed the younger man aside with a disgusted snarl. "I
apologize Mr. Skinner. My name is Marcus Perry and this
impolite young man is Alex Krycek. Walter called last night and
told me some of what happened. He also said that I didn't need to
come here. My guess is he's expecting us anyway." 

"Yes, he is. I'll go tell him you're here." The older man turned
around and glared at Krycek. "I still know how to handle
disrespectful young men, Alex. There's an old razor strop hanging
in the barn that would more than do the trick. If you don't think it
can change your attitude, I suggest you ask Walter about it." 

The two younger men watched in stunned silence as Hugh Skinner
walked away from them and up the stairs. 

"Well," Marcus snickered. "It seems the Skinner acorns don't fall
far from the tree. And he got your number right away, Krycek. I
think you'd better change your ways around here. I'd really hate to
see that pretty butt of yours dancing under his strop." 

"Yeah, I can see it would just break your heart. But you can just
forget it, that old man isn't getting anywhere near me with his
damned strap." 

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Alex." Came a gravelly voice
from behind them. 

Both men turned to see Walter Skinner standing at the foot of the
stairs, glaring at the green-eyed punk in leather. 

"Mind you manners around my uncle Alex, or I'll be the one
wielding that strap against your backside." Skinner turned to
Marcus and smiled, "Why am I not surprised to see you here?" 

"Because you knew the minute you called, I'd come. And I think
you probably knew I'd bring the rat-brat with me. How's Fox?" 

"Still in a lot of pain. He'll be in bed for another day or two. He
doesn't seem to be too traumatized over the rape. He says he's
fine, that it all seems like a fever-dream to him. I just hope that's
true." 

"So what happens now?" Alex asked from where he was leaning
against a far wall, sulking. 

"I've told the bureau that two of my agents have been threatened.
I am now officially on undercover assignment, and Fox and Dana
are in protective custody. My plan is to lay low here for a couple
of days to plan my revenge. Then I'm going to leave Fox here,
which will not go down well if I know my boy at all, and the men
who hurt him pay in ways they never imagined." 

"And the Cancerman?" Alex asked. "You'll never get close
enough to him. Believe me I know, I've been trying for years." 

"You're probably right, Alex." Skinner ran a tired hand over his
face. "But after he sees what I have planned for his henchmen, I
think he'll think twice before he tries to hurt Fox again." 

Marcus looked thoughtful for a moment, "Did I understand
correctly that the Smoking Man beat Fox, but didn't take part in
the rape. Why do you think that was?" 

Skinner glanced up the stairs, "In my opinion, Fox is a prime
example of the theory that genetics do not make the man." 

"You think that evil old man is Fox's real father?" Marcus looked
stunned. "I find that hard to believe." 

"Most of the Consortium believes it," Alex too glanced up the
stairs, making sure the other man was not within hearing distance.
"It's been a rumor for years." 

How could a man beat his own son so badly he couldn't leave his
bed for three days?" Marcus asked. "And watch as he was
repeatedly raped. I just can't understand it." 

"Any sane man wouldn't understand it, Marcus. And besides he
enjoyed watching every minute of it." Skinner motioned the other
two up the stairs. "Let's look in on Fox, I need to apply some
more medication to his injuries. My uncle goes in town to play
poker every Friday afternoon. We'll have our first planning
session then. I don't want him involved in this mess." 

"Well, I am involved, Walter. Don't you start treating me like a
worthless old man or I'll show you where I keep my razor strop
these days?" 

"I didn't mean it like that Uncle Hugh. These men are dangerous
and I don't want you to get hurt, that's all." 

"Well I may be a little past my prime, but I'm not dead yet. You
keep me in mind while you make your plans. I've never seen a
boy who's taken a worse beating than that one upstairs right now,
and with no provocation on his part as far as I hear tell. That
wasn't right. The men who did that to him deserve to pay for their
crimes, and it sounds to me like the only justice they're gonna' see
will come from the three of you. So Walter, I'm in and that's the
end of it." 

"Mr Skinner, sir," Marcus' eyes bored into the other man. "We
don't plan to let these men live." 

"I raised my nephew after his parents died. He's an honorable and
just man. I have complete faith that he'll do no more or no less
than what needs to be done. Now come in the kitchen while I put
together some sandwiches. Which one of you boys wants to take
some soup up to feed Fox?" 

"I'll do it!" Three voices said at the same time, all of them glaring
at each other when they realized there were too many applicants
for the one job opening. 

Hugh chuckled at them. "Well it would appear the boy has friends
anyway." He handed the bowl to Marcus, turning a parental look
on Alex. "Consider it a punishment, boy. And you," he turned to
Walter, "Need to rest for a spell." 

After lunch the four men sat around the kitchen table consuming
pots of coffee and planning their revenge on Cancerman and his
malicious men in black. They were interrupted by a pale and
shaky Mulder who stood leaning weakly against the doorframe,
staring at them. Somehow he had managed to dress in some
pilfered sweat pants but they looked dangerously close to sliding
off his slim hips and down his long legs. 

"Damnit Fox! What the hell are you doing out of bed?" Skinner
exploded as he quickly rose from his chair to put a supporting arm
around his exasperating slave boy. "I swear, you're going to be the
death of me yet!" 

"I heard you talking down here. I need to know what's going on." 

"No, you don't," Skinner tried to turn him back toward the stairs
but Mulder sank his fingers into the edge of the door frame,
locking his shaky legs into place as much as possible. 

"Mulder . . ." Skinner pleaded. 

Krycek openly laughed, while Marcus tried to hide his own
amusement behind a well-placed hand. "Wow Skinner," Krycek
chuckled again, "You've made so much progress in the last few
months. Look at how he just hops to the minute you give an order.
Now that's impressive training!" 

"Shut up, Alex" Skinner growled ominously. "Fox, you're going
back to bed if I have to carry you, which looks like it might be the
only way you'll make it back up those stairs as it is." 

Hugh Skinner watched his nephew try to coax the stubborn young
man back upstairs for several minutes before he got up from his
chair and moved to an ancient blackboard mounted on the kitchen
wall by the back door. He picked up a sliver of chalk and very
carefully wrote 'Fox', then made a small vertical mark on the
board. He turned around to see all eyes on him, only Walter
knowing what the mark meant. 

"Fox, that's one stroke of my razor strop on your bare backside."
He watched as the younger man flinched. "Don't worry, it won't
be today, but the minute your butt is back in shape it's out to the
barn with you. Now are you going to get back upstairs or do I add
another stroke to my count?" 

"I have a right to be in on this! I don't want to go to bed." 

Hugh added another mark to the board. 

"Damnit!" Mulder shouted as he clung to the doorframe. "Why
does everybody treat me like some fucking kid?" 

"Cause you act like a spoiled brat?" Alex offered, earning a dirty
look from both Walter and Marcus. Mulder didn't take his eyes
off the man holding the chalk. 

Walter cringed as Hugh drew a circle around the first mark on his
board. "I don't hold with swearing, son. You'll be taking your
licks with a bar of soap in your mouth. Now do you have anything
else you want to say, or are you ready to let Walter put you back to
bed where you belong." 

"I . . .I . . ." Tears formed in Mulder's eyes as his knees buckled
under him. Walter immediately scooped him up in his arms,
holding him tightly against his chest. 

"I'll be right back." 

As Skinner left the room with Mulder in his arms, Alex turned to
Hugh Skinner. "I wouldn't like it if you hurt him, old man." 

"You don't scare me, little boy. And the reason I'm not putting
marks on that board for you is that your bottom is fresh. You give
me any trouble and you'll be making a trip to the barn before you
know what hit you." 

"You and who else, gramps?" 

"I'll be glad to help you Mr. Skinner, though my guess is you
wouldn't need it." Marcus smirked as Alex turned his most deadly
glare on him. "Oh give the 'dangerous assassin' thing a rest, Alex.
No one here is going to be bullied. Either get on the team or take a
hike. Your choice." 

Krycek's chair hit the floor behind him as he rose from the table,
the door slamming forcefully behind him as he left the house. The
two men could see him swearing to himself and kicking at clots of
mud out in the barnyard. 

"That boy has a devil on his back. He can be saved, but it's gonna'
take a heap of work." 

Marcus shook his head sadly, "I'm not sure any one us will live
long enough to see that boy saved, Mr. Skinner." 

* * *

Upstairs Skinner laid Mulder gently on his side in the big bed,
stripping off the loose pants and tucking him back under the
covers. He then sat down on the bed beside Mulder's hips and
gently pushed the dark hair out of the sad hazel eyes. 

"Sorry," Mulder studied the ceiling above the bed as if it were the
holy grail. "I guess I upset your uncle, huh?" 

"I'd say you did. You okay?" 

""I'm fine. Sir, is your uncle really going to . . ." 

"Give you a good spanking. Probably before you leave here, yes,
he considers you part of his family now." 

"He does? I thought he didn't approve of your relationship with
me." 

"What can I say, you grow on people, kid." 

Mulder grabbed Walter's wrist as he started to stand up. "Don't
leave yet. I want . . ." 

Skinner sat back down, smiling at his errant slave boy. "What do
you want, Fox?" 

"I want . . .I want you to make love to me." 

Walter's eyes opened wide. "Now that's a first! I don't think
you've ever asked me for sex before." 

Mulder smiled up at his Master, "Did it ever occur to you that if
you didn't jump me every night, I might have a need to ask?" 

"I do _not_ . . ." 

"Sure you do, but I'm not complaining. I stopped complaining a
long time ago. Bet you didn't notice that either." 

"You mean I've been wasting all that time seducing you?" 

"I 'd hardly call it a waste, at least not from my perspective. I love
every minute of it. But this time I'm asking. I need you to make
me feel clean again. I want you to wipe out every last second of
that other memory, hazy as it is." Mulder shifted his eyes away,
"I'm worried . . .that you won't want me now." 

Walter ran a finger down his slave's smooth cheek and across his
full lower lip, finally pulling Mulder's chin up so that their eyes
met. "I will always want you, don't ever be concerned about that.
And as much as I'd like to take you up on your offer, it's too soon.
You need a couple more days to heal and then I'll show you just
how desirable you still are to me. Now move over a little and let
me hold you until you go to sleep." 

"I like the sound of that." Mulder smiled and yawned widely. 

Skinner lay beside him, snuggled down in the warm blankets,
petting and kissing Mulder until he lay sleeping, safe in his
Master's big, strong arms. 

* * *

Washington D.C.
Four Days Later 

James Michael Kruzack, better known in his circle as Jimmy
Spats, sprawled on his couch in his dingy little apartment. He
planned to move to a nicer place now that Mr. Spender had started
giving him more jobs to do. But for now, this hole in the wall
would have to do. He had certainly slept in worse places in his
long and violent career. 

Deciding the football game he was watching was damned boring,
James clicked through the channels until his attention was caught
by a movie. The lead actor reminded him a lot of the pretty boy
FBI Agent Mr. Spender had let him rape. God, he had enjoyed that
night. He wondered if there was any way a repeat performance
could be arranged. He would have to drop a few very subtle hints
to Mr. Spender. After all, James was now a valuable asset to the
Consortium, why wouldn't they want to show their appreciation to
him? And what better way than letting him pound that gorgeous
fed through the mattress? All those pretty boys liked it rough
anyway. Everybody knew that. 

When the knock sounded on the door, James' grabbed his gun off
the scarred and battered coffee table at his feet, moving cautiously
toward the door. 

"Who's there?" He looked out the small hole in the door to see an
old man in a funny hat standing there. 

"Pizza delivery." 

"I didn't order no pizza. Go away." 

"Don't you try to pull that on me, sonny boy. If this is apartment
326, then this is your pizza and you owe me $22.86. Open up!" 

"Shit!" Just what he needed, some half deaf old geezer standing
outside his door yelling his head off. James threw the door open
glaring at the old man. "Listen up, pops, I didn't order a pizza.
Now get lost!" 

"I want my $22.86. If you don't pay up the boss takes it out of my
wages. Now give me my money!" 

James ran out of his limited store of patience. He reached out
grabbed the pizza box, then gave the old man a shove in the
middle of his chest, causing him to stumble back barely catching
himself on the opposite wall of the hallway. 

"That'll teach you to mess with me old man. And thanks for the
pizza." James sneered, as he slammed the door in the protesting
man's face. 

He sprawled back on his grimy couch and opened his gift. It
smelled wonderful, lots of bubbling cheese and loaded with
sausage and pepper. He continued to watch the tall, dark-haired
actor on the small screen, rubbing his crotch with one hand and
devouring more than three-fourths of the pizza with the other.
Finally, his appetites satisfied in more ways than one, James felt
himself being pulled into asleep. 

Four hours later he awakened, freezing his ass off and with a
pounding headache. He groaned miserably as he opened his eyes.
The shock of what he saw made him forget his head, as he sat up
straight. Or at least as straight as his bindings would allow. He
was back in that warehouse. The warehouse where they had raped
the pretty fibbie. Shit! He looked around himself frantically, but
there didn't seem to be anyone there except him. 

He pulled at the metal cuffs that held him securely to eye-bolts in
the thick stone wall behind him. His ankles were attached to
similar bolts that had been driven into the concrete floor. He was
sitting on that icy floor, stark naked, with his legs spread almost as
far apart as they could go. He felt exposed and , though he would
never admit it, very frightened. 

He glanced down between his spread legs and was surprised to see
some thick brown substance covering his cock and balls. He tried
to lean closer, wondering what kind of sick joke this was. Again
he was surprised when he identified the substance as peanut butter.
Some sick fucker had covered his cock in peanut butter! 

He pulled at his cuffed hands, almost panicked at this point. He
was so wild with his desire to escape, he didn't notice the man
who had come in the room until he stood right in front of him,
smiling. 

"How you doin' Jimmy? Or is it James now?" 

The bound man heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Alex, thank God.
Get me out of these cuffs, there is something really weird going
down here." 

Alex Krycek sat down the large cardboard box he had been
holding, looking around at the dingy room. "You don't like it
here, James? I would have thought it would have brought back a
lot of pleasant memories for you. I heard you really enjoyed
yourself when you brought Fox Mulder here to beat and rape." 

James eyed his fellow assassin, deciding the man was just
morbidly curious. "Yeah, that slave boy was one fine piece of ass.
So hot and tight he just about melted my dick off. I'm going to ask
the old man if I can have another go at him real soon. You should
do the same, Alex." 

"Maybe I will, James. You know this is a real nice place. There
isn't anyone around for miles. I bet Mulder screamed his head off
and there wasn't a soul around to help him." 

"Why don't you let me loose, Alex, and I'll tell you all about it." 

"Tell me now." 

"I think we should get out of here, man. Let me loose and we can
just . . ." 

"Tell me first, James. I want to know if he screamed." 

"Dammit, Alex, of course he screamed! The old man used that
rubber-covered paddle of his on the boy's pretty, bare ass. He
screamed until he lost his voice. Now get these cuffs off me
before I lose my temper." 

Alex smiled down at the man, then calmly walked over to a table
set against the far wall and picked up a large can. He walked back
over and knelt down beside the restrained man. 

"I think I'm tired of talking to you now, James." Alex removed
the lid off the can of peanut butter and began quickly spooning the
sticky substance into the man's mouth. When he clamped his lips
shut, Alex set down his can and clamped vice-like fingers into the
man's jaw until he opened his mouth again. James tried valiantly
to swallow what he could and spit out the rest but it was just too
thick and was being spooned into his mouth too fast. Soon he
found himself with his mouth open to its fullest extent, unable to
move his tongue to dislodge any of the gummy bulk. 

Krycek wiped the spoon on James' nipples, making sure both were
as liberally covered as the man's crotch. Only then did he put the
can aside, picking up a long stripe of gauze bandage and wrapping
it once around the man's mouth before tying it behind his head. It
wasn't very thick but it would keep the peanut butter in place for
as long as was necessary. 

The taste of the peanut butter was making James sick but he feared
that if he didn't dare vomit. He also tried desperately to fight his
natural swallow instinct, for fear he would choke. 

Krycek walked back over to the box he had left on the floor,
bringing it back, kneeling once more by the struggling man. 

"You shouldn't have hurt Mulder, James. He's under my
protection. So now you have to pay for what you did to him." The
bound man's eyes grew huge above his stuffed mouth. "I just hope
you enjoyed him, I'm going to exact a high price for those few
hours of pleasure." 

Krycek opened his box, and gently turned it on its side releasing
six of the biggest rats James had ever seen. He couldn't make a
sound but the chains holding him to floor and wall rattled
frantically as the terror stricken man struggled vainly to free
himself. 

"Funny thing about rats, James. Most people think they like
cheese, but give them a scoop of peanut better and they just go
crazy. Of course, I don't have to tell you that, you're going to see
for yourself. I bet these guys even have some friends waiting in
the wings to help them out here." 

Krycek picked up his box and his peanut butter, then stood staring
down at the man who had raped Fox. James himself could not
take his eyes off the large, curious rats who were now sniffing
around his crotch, taking the first tentative bites of the tempting
treat that had been left for them. 

"See ya', James," Alex moved toward the door, then turned with
an evil smile. "No, I guess I won't. You're going to be here
awhile, you can use the time to think about how much you enjoyed
raping Fox Mulder." 

* * *

New York City
Two Days Later 

Cancerman sat behind his desk, holding his ever present cigarette
with shaking hands. There was no one in his office. He was glad
of that, it wouldn't do for his men to see him frightened. But he
was frightened. 

One of his men, James Kruzack, had been found in the warehouse
where they had taken Skinner for his punishment. The man was
bound sitting against the wall, naked and spread eagled. His
genitalia, chest cavity and most of his face had been eaten away by
rats. 

Spender shuddered. He had been unable to locate Skinner, Mulder
or Scully. It was like they had vanished from the face of the earth.
If he didn't get some answers, and get them soon, heads were
going to roll. He needed to find Skinner before Skinner found
him. And there was no one he could use for leverage. Mrs. Scully
was also 'away', or so her neighbors said and the Smoking Man
didn't dare touch Mrs. Mulder. For the first time in years, he
couldn't come up with a plan to save his own life. 

He picked up his phone to make arrangements. 

* * *

Washington D.C.
One Day Later 

The honorable thing for C.G.B. Spender to do would have been to
warn Raymond Salvia that his cohort on the Skinner abduction,
James Kruzack, had been brutally tortured and murdered. But
Spender was not an honorable man, and the organization that
employed him cared little for the men who did their dirty work.
The men in black were easily expendable and easily replaced. 

Raymond made the unfortunate decision on this crisp, sunny
November day to drive to Virginia and pursue him passion, deer
hunting. It was off-season and he never actually did anything with
the animals he killed, just left them in the woods to rot. But it was
the hunt he loved. The fear in the proud and beautiful beast's eyes
the moment before he pulled the trigger. 

It was the same look he saw in the eyes of the men he tortured or
killed. He was a man born for his job with Spender and his Group
of power-mad old men. They thought they controlled Raymond
Salvia, but in truth he killed for them because he loved it. 

Salvia had hiked deep into the woods. He didn't particularly care
if he met up with a park ranger but he didn't really want to spoil
his day by having to hide a body either. 

He sat quietly under giant sycamore tree. He had been sitting there
for a couple of hours, just enjoying the good weather and his own
musings when a rustle of brush to his left caught his attention. He
rose cautiously to his feet as a magnificent deer sauntered warily
out of the underbrush, his antlers measuring at least four feet
across. This was no young, untried buck. This was an animal
worthy of Raymond Salvia as its hunter. 

The trained assassin slowly raised his rifle, the scope easily
targeting between the buck's eyes as they continually scanned the
woods for danger. Suddenly, Raymond dropped his rifle, the hair
on the back of his neck standing on end, feeling like he had
somehow traded places with his now fleeing quarry. 

Raymond carefully turned in a slow circle, rifle at the ready. He
could feel someone watching him. He hadn't stayed alive this long
in his line of work without taking heed when his danger radar
kicked in like this. 

He heard a rustle behind him, pivoted on one foot and brought the
rifle to bear on the still quivering bush. 

"Who's there?" 

The forest had become deadly silent. Not the sound of a bird or
even a breeze in the tree tops could be heard. All was quiet and
still. Deathly still. 

Another rustle of dried leaves, behind him again. He turned
sharply once more, backing up against the giant tree, desperate to
cover his back from the man or men who now pursued him. 

"Come out and show yourself!" 

Still nothing. Not a sound in the silent forest. 

Without warning, the still air was cut by a whirring sound and a
sharp clack as a knife embedded itself through the sleeve of
Raymond's jacket and into the tree behind him. He pulled at his
right arm, rifle still at the ready but he could not dislodge the
small, steel throwing knife that held him captive. 

He lowered his gun slightly, raising his left hand to pull at the
deadly little weapon. Another whir and another identical knife
secured his left pants leg to the tree. Panic began to set in.
Raymond awkwardly picked up his rifle, firing at random at the
bushes in front of him. He reached into his pocket for more
ammunition but realized to late that he couldn't reach it with his
right arm pinned, unless he lowered his weapon all together. 

Frantic for escape, Raymond threw down his gun and pulled at his
clothing, hoping the tear the fabric and run for his life. Another
whir and his left shoulder exploded in pain. He looked over, his
eyes wide with shock, to see one of the shiny little knives deeply
embedded in his shoulder, blood quickly soaking the front of his
jacket. 

"Stop it! Who are you? What do you want with me? I'm a rich
man, I'll give you anything you want." 

Walter Skinner stepped into the clearing. "I don't really want
anything from you now, Mr. Salvia. There was a time I wanted
you to stop hurting someone I loved. But you hurt him anyway,
didn't you?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about!" 

"Don't you? I'm surprised. People usually don't forget Fox
Mulder once they get to know him. And you got to know him very
well, didn't you, Raymond?" 

"I was just following orders. Mr. Spender said he was a
Consortium slave boy who needed to learn his place. He told me it
was expected for me to use him. That's what slaves were for." 

"He lied to you, Raymond. Fox belongs to me." 

Salvia screamed as another knife flew out of the underbrush and
buried itself deep in his right thigh. "Oh stop, please stop. You're
killing me." 

"That's the idea, Raymond. You hurt Fox and now you die. I've
told all of you that any number of times. I kill anyone who touches
Fox. I just don't understand why all of you refuse to believe me." 

Three more knives, glinting in the noonday sun, rocketed through
the air. One to the right shoulder, one in the left thigh and one
taking a good chuck out of Raymond Salvia's right ear. 

The man broke down sobbing, bleeding from every extremity, the
pain of the knives in his flesh unbearable. 

"Please stop, it hurts so badly. I can't take anymore of this pain." 

"Funny," Skinner mused. "That's the same thing Fox said when
you were raping him for the second time. Don't you remember?" 

Marcus stepped out of the underbrush. "I've got three knives left,
Walter. Where do you want them?" 

Skinner smiled coldly, intensifying the captive man's horror.
"You know, don't you Raymond? You know where I'm going to
tell my friend to leave his last three knives. You should have
known better than to use that little tool of yours on Fox. You
should have seen it in my eyes, a seasoned veteran like you. You
let your dick do your thinking for you, Ray. And now . . ." 

Raymond watched in terror as Marcus brought his deadly accurate
little knives up over his shoulder. He held them there for what
seemed like an eternity before they flashed through the air and
Raymond's crotch exploded in a burst of agony. His penis mostly
severed, his testicles punctured and pinned to the tree. Raymond
was unconsciousness before he had time to scream. 

Skinner walked over, taking a bottle out of his pocket, waving it
under the man's nose until he came to enough to do his screaming. 

Skinner waited until his voice was all but gone, the screams
turning to a pathetic mewling. "You'll need to stay awake,
Raymond." Skinner gave him another good whiff of the smelling
salts before sticking the opened bottle down into the man's front
shirt pocket. "Here, these salts might help keep you to stay alert.
It worked well on Mulder when you wanted him to feel all the pain
you and your friends were dishing out to him. It's very important
to stay sharp in the woods, Ray. It's going to get dark soon and
this forest is full of wild animals that will be very attracted by the
smell of all that blood you're wearing." 

Marcus and Skinner turned to walk away from the bleeding man
skewered to the tree. "You can't leave me like this! Dammit, just
shoot me! It's inhuman to leave me here to die like this." 

Skinner turned back, his eyes cold. "That's part of the problem,
Raymond, I don't consider you to be human. You're an animal
and now you're going to die like one." 

Marcus and Skinner walked back to their car, the man's pitiful
screams finally fading away as the two men hiked further out of
the forest. It would be spring before anyone found the corpse, if
then. 

"If they never find the body, how will the Smoking Man get the
message about leaving Fox alone?" Marcus asked as they hiked
back to their car. 

"He'll know what happened to his goon. He may not know all the
details but he'll know it wasn't pretty. Which reminds me, how
did a desk jockey like you learn to throw knives like that?" 

Marcus chuckled, "Misspent young, half of it in Australia. All
those Aussies know how to throw a knife. The ranch hands spent a
lot of hours teaching Josh and me how to protect ourselves. It's
rough county down there, not a place for a boy to grow up without
weapon skills." 

"Well, I'm just glad you're on my side, Marcus." 

* * *

Pennsylvania Farmhouse
The Next Afternoon 

Skinner and Marcus walked into the living room of the old farm
house and stopped dead in their tracks. Uncle Hugh was sitting in
his favorite chair by the fire, a mixed look of rage and worry on his
face. The hair of the back of Walter's neck immediately stood on
end. 

"What is it, Uncle Hugh? What's happened? Where's Mulder?" 

"Alex thought he knew the location of one of those men who hurt
Fox. I think they called him the Smoking Man. I told them not to
go until you got back. Fox promised me they would wait for you
but they snuck out of the house last night while I was asleep. Alex
left this note." 

He handed the small piece of paper to his nephew. Sure enough,
Alex had once again lured Mulder to follow him on some half-
assed, ill-gotten lead that could get them both killed. 

"I'm sorry, Walter." 

"It's not your fault, Uncle Hugh. This isn't the first time this has
happened, and hopefully they'll both be alive to try it again. I need
to get a breath of fresh air and try to figure out just where they
might have gone." 

Skinner pushed the note into Marcus' hands, quickly leaving the
house. He knew that if he stayed a minute longer his language, as
well as his anger, would upset his already distraught uncle. 

Walter had no sooner exited the back door, than the front door
slammed open, the two missing men stomping into the house,
yelling at the top of their lungs. Marcus bolted for the back door
to find Walter. 

"Unscrupulous Rat!" 

"Naive Brat!" 

"Dumb-assed prick!" 

"Tight-assed dick!" 

Walter walked in the house just in time to catch Mulder around the
waist before he could launch himself at Krycek. 

"I see you finally got to dress in black, Fox." 

Mulder froze in his Master's arms, his face losing all its color. 

"And just where the hell have you two been?" Skinner gave the
man in his arms a good shake. "Didn't I tell you not to leave this
house?" 

"Uh . . .well, you see sir . . . uh, it was . . .what I mean is . . ." 

"Shut-up, Mulder! What about you, Alex, what part of 'stay here'
didn't you understand?" 

"The part where you're the one who always gets to give the
orders." Alex sneered. 

"Did you find Spender?" 

Krycek glared at him sullenly. "No." 

"Why do you keep dragging Fox into these dangerous situations,
Alex? I just don't understand . . ." 

"Hey! He doesn't 'drag' me! I'm an adult, I make my own . . ." 

"Shut up, Fox. As I was saying, Alex. It's not like you enjoy his
company. You two come back at each other's throats every time." 

"You'll notice," Krycek pointed out. "That he's the one who
always has to be restrained. Little slave boy would rather use his
fists than his head." 

"At least I have a head to use, rat boy!" 

Skinner slipped a hand over Mulder's mouth, pulling his head back
against his shoulder. "Shut up, Fox. You're as much to blame as
he is. Are your injuries feeling better now?" 

A nod of the dark head pressed back against the muscular
shoulder. 

"You're completely healed? No pain at all?" 

Another nod 

"You didn't get hurt again while you were on this little adventure
with Alex?" 

A heavy sigh but a shake of the head this time. 

"That's good news, slave boy, because as I recall you have an
appointment with Uncle Hugh's strap, and I'm beginning to think
it might be just about time." 

Wide hazel eyes shifted to look at his Master. A frenzied shake of
the dark head and soft, pleading eyes directed at the man who held
him tightly against his chest. 

"You can forget making cow-eyes at my nephew, Fox." Uncle
Hugh said from across the room. "They're both going to get a dose
of my strop right after supper. Running off like that! Lying to me!
These two have driven me crazy while you were gone, Walter. I
don't see how you put up with it." 

"Are you sure Fox is up to it, Uncle Hugh?" Skinner's concerned
eyes traveled over the body he still held captive in his arms. 

"Yes, he's up to it all right. Been all piss and vinegar for the last
two days. Enough to drive a righteous man to swear like a sailor.
He's due for seven licks of my strap. That one over there is gonna'
get twelve. He didn't think I noticed he was the instigator, always
getting Fox riled up and then standing back and laughing at his
temper tantrums. We'll see how he likes it when Fox is the one
watching him while his bare butt does a little jig under my strap." 

Hugh eyed the two younger men with satisfaction, "Then of course
they'll get what ever you want to give them for running off like
that. That's up to you, Walter." 

"Nobody's going to touch . . . Umph!" Krycek lost all the air in
his lungs and Marcus walked up behind him, catching him up in a
bear-hug that lifted the younger man off his feet. 

"Quiet, Alex." Marcus hissed. "If Hugh says you get strapped,
then you get strapped. Personally, I've never liked the way you
bate Fox. And I certainly don't like you dragging him off to
confront Cancerman all alone." 

"Fox, Fox, Fox." Krycek sneered. "Doesn't anyone care about
me?" 

"No!" The three older men said in unison, causing Mulder's eyes
to sparkle above Skinner's hand that was still over his mouth. 

While Marcus and Walter fixed dinner, Hugh sat at the table
drinking coffee, and Mulder and Krycek found themselves with
their noses stuck in separate corners of the kitchen. Alex had his
pants pulled down, two bright red hand-prints decorating his bare
cheeks. He had smarted off to Uncle Hugh one time too many.
Mulder was no fool, he could learn from the mistakes of others.
He kept his mouth shut. Besides, it was nice to not be the one with
his bare ass hanging out for a change. 

When dinner was on the table, Walter came over to get Mulder,
placing a small comforting kiss on his cheek. Mulder still wasn't
all that reassured about getting a strapping but he did feel a little
better that he was getting kisses while Alex had been dragged over
to the table, pants still at his knees, and shoved down onto a hard
kitchen chair. 

"Fox, stop pushing your food around your plate. You need to eat.
You don't want Uncle Hugh to have to add another mark or two to
your punishment, now do you?" 

"No sir." Mulder sighed heavily and put a fork full of food in his
mouth. 

"Spoiled rotten!" 

"Krycek, haven't you leaned to keep you mouth shut yet?" Marcus
asked with no small amount of wonder in his voice. "There's just
no hope for you." 

"Every boy is trainable. It's just a matter of a lot of good guidance
and even more good discipline. By the way," Uncle Hugh looked
over at his nephew, "would you mind doing the honors for me
tonight, Walter. My arthritis is acting up on me a little." 

"Sure, Uncle Hugh." Skinner looked at his uncle in confusion.
Since when did the old man have arthritis? Then he understood.
His uncle wanted Walter to be the one to decide just how hard and
in what way Mulder got punished during this first session since he
had recovered from his torture at the hands of the Smoking Man.
Everybody at the table knew that Mulder wasn't going to get much
more than a gentle reminder that he belonged to Walter Skinner
tonight. Everyone but Mulder that is. He was still terrified. 

Dinner eaten and dishes done far too quickly to suit Mulder and
Krycek, and they were all on their way to the barn. Mulder balked
at the door but no one noticed except Walter, who put a powerful
arm around his waist and escorted him into the fragrant interior of
the old structure. Hugh flicked a switch by the entrance and at
least twenty lights came one, illuminating the interior as bright as
day. 

"Cows didn't like the dark." He explained to a wide-eyed Mulder. 

Walter planted a soft kiss on Mulder's temple, then looked up to
see his uncle's eyes on him. He realized that he had been touching
and kissing Mulder all evening. It was a reaction to the events of
the last week having finally come to an end. He would have to
apologize to his uncle later. Then an amazing thing happened,
Hugh walked over, put his own arm around Mulder and drew him
into a fierce hug. Skinner thought the shocked young agent might
faint where he stood. 

"Don't worry, Walter," Hugh Skinner winked at his flabbergasted
nephew. "You were right, he does grow on you. But, I have to tell
you I still don't understand this 'slave' business. Although if
anybody needs a full-time Master, it would be this boy." 

"Thanks, Uncle Hugh." Skinner smiled at his uncle, all the love
he felt for the man who had been like a father to him right there in
his eyes for all to see. The AD felt tears sting the back of his eyes
so he quickly turned away and began unzipping Mulder's jacket. 

Mulder tried to bat his hands away, "Hey, what are you doing? I'll
freeze without my coat." 

"Every boy who gets a licking with Uncle Hugh's strap, has to be
butt naked. It's the way it's always been. Now stand still and let
me help you." 

Mulder looked over to where a nude Krycek already stood,
shivering in the cool barn. 

"Master," Skinner looked up into a pair of wide, frightened eyes.
"I . . .I don't want to do this." 

"We have to jump right back on the wagon, Fox. Just like we are
going to do with the sex. You're my slave. I punish you when you
deserve it and that isn't going to change. Once this is over, you'll
see that you feel a lot better about the whole thing." 

"I bet my butt won't feel better." Mulder stepped out of his
boxers, a shiver running over his naked skin. 

"All right boys, come up here and stand by these hay bails."
Mulder moved on wooden legs to join Alex in front of the two
bales that had been stacked one on top of the other and covered
with an old horse blanket. 

"Fox," Uncle Hugh heart almost melted as he stared into those
wide, hazel eyes, "You're going to go first, boy, not because I want
to humiliate you but because I don't want you watching Alex
getting the good hiding he deserves and thinking that you're gonna
get the same thing." 

Hugh turned to where Walter stood, holding the old strop. "Are
you ready, Walter?" 

At his nod, Hugh continued. "Fox, you're going to get seven licks
for disobedience and fighting in my house. I'll save the bar-soap
in your mouth for the next time you end up out here. Oh don't
give me that look, you'll end up out here again as sure as my name
is Hugh Skinner. Now get yourself butt-up over those bales and be
quick about it, it's cold out here." 

Mulder took one last look around at the four men who stood
watching his naked shame. Face flaming crimson, he bent over the
hay bales, butt high and waiting to be soundly disciplined. 

Walter moved behind the trembling, well-presented bottom. "Are
you ready for your strapping, Fox?" 

"Ye . . .yes sir." 

Skinner raised the strap and brought it down with a stinging pop on
the bare, unprotected butt cheeks. Smack! 

"Who do you belong to, Fox?" 

"Ouch! I belong to you!" 

Skinner raised the strap again. He was going for pure sting, there
would be no deep, burning ache from this strapping. Smack!
Another pink stripe appeared on Mulder's bottom. 

"And who punishes you when you deserve it?" 

"Ah! You do! You punish me!" 

Another stinging lick, and then a fourth right on the tender area
where bottom met thigh. 

Skinner stopped for a moment to walk around and crouch down by
Mulder's dangling head. "How you doing, slave boy?" 

Mulder raised damp eyes, "I'm fine." 

"No one punishes you but me or those I give permission, slave
boy. Do you understand that?" 

"Yes, Master, I understand." 

"You are getting three more lashes of my strap on your bare
bottom because you earned them with your disobedience to my
uncle. I am your Master and I have the right to punish you as I see
fit. Do you agree with that?" 

"Yes, Master. You have the right to punish me." 

"And the men who are now watching me stripe your naked flesh,
they are doing so only because I have granted them permission to
witness your suffering. It is my choice who sees your tears and
hears your cries of pain. Do you understand that?" 

"Yes, Master. It's your choice alone." 

"Good. You're doing very well, Fox." He ruffled Mulder's hair
and moved around to deliver the last strokes. 

Each one got a yelp and a wiggle of upturned bottom. When the
last of the seven had been delivered, Walter looked down at the
rosy bottom still squirming over the hay bale and felt his cock
swell in his jeans. It wasn't often that Fox could walk away from a
strapping wearing pink instead of scarlet on that delectable butt. 

"All right Fox, you can get up now." Skinner gently pulled his
wayward slave to his feet, and used his thumb to wipe away the
one tear that had managed to find its way down his cheek. Walter
gave him one more kiss right on that little mole on his cheek, then
deposited him by where Marcus Perry stood. 

"Keep an eye on him for me, Marcus." 

Mulder felt himself being pulled back against Marcus's broad
chest, the big Texan's strong, secure arms wrapped tightly around
his shivering body. 

Skinner raised a questioning eyebrow at Marcus. "I'm not sure
you need to watch him that closely." 

All the AD received in return was a devilish grin and a shrug of
broad shoulders. Walter just shook his head as he turned back to
watch his uncle deal with the man who would next feel the sting of
the strap across his bare backside. 

"Get yourself butt up over these hay bales, Alex. You've been
nothing but trouble since you walked in my door. You may think
you can bully your way through life, but you don't scare me, little
boy." 

Krycek stood glaring at the older men, then finally strutted forward
like a man without a care in the world. He gave them all a
condescending smile, and then took the place Mulder had just
vacated over the stacked hay. 

"Alex," Skinner tightened his grip on the strap, "What is it going
to take to teach you anything? My uncle is right, you think the
only way to get what you want is to bully, intimidate and threaten.
I've had enough of it. Now hold on, I plan to make these twelve
count." 

The strap came up over Skinner's shoulder, hesitated for a
moment, and then descended with all the power available in those
massive biceps. The loud crack of leather on bare skin
reverberated off the barn walls, a bright red streak of pure torment
appearing on the clenching bottom cheeks so prominently on
display. 

The strap came down again, Skinner grunting softly as he put his
considerable weight behind the stroke. Another angry red stripe
appeared, the bottom wiggling frantically, a strangled mewling
sound coming from the man over the bales. 

Krycek took two more of the punishing blows before he finally
screamed, begging for Skinner to let up just a little. The AD took
a moment to study his handiwork. Four perfectly straight streaks
of pure fire now decorated the dancing bottom. The strap was
wide and covered a good amount of the target area with each
stroke. 

Skinner aimed low this time, right across the top of the exposed
thighs. Again Krycek screamed, his feet kicking wildly. 

Numbers six and seven slammed across previously punished flesh
and brought the hapless assassin to sobbing tears. 

Skinner raised his strap for strike number eight when he was
interrupted by Marcus' urgent voice. 

"Walter, I think we have a problem over here." 

Skinner turned quickly to see Mulder shaking from head to toe,
teeth chattering and tears streaming down his face. His eyes were
glued to the withering, red bottom of the well-punished man across
the hay bales. He wasn't responding in the least as Marcus called
his name repeatedly, shaking him gently. 

"What the hell?" Skinner threw down the strap, racing to his
slave's side. He took a firm hold of the unresponsive man's
shoulders and turned him to face his Master. "Fox, what's going
on? Are you all right?" 

Mulder finally managed to raise his eyes to meet those of the man
who now trying to get his attention. Upon recognizing his Master,
he immediately flung himself into the safe and consoling arms,
shaking violently. 

"I . . . I'm . . . fi . . .fine." 

"Shit!" Skinner grabbed a blanket off a nearby stall, wrapped it
around Mulder's body, scooped the younger man up into his arms,
and bolted toward the barn door. 

Marcus and Hugh could see Walter hurrying across the barnyard,
anxious to reach the warmth and comfort of the house, Mulder
clasped tightly to his chest. 

"What do we do now?" Marcus asked. 

Hugh looked down at the red, squirming bottom still displayed
over the hay. It's unfortunate owner trying desperately to not let
his sobs be heard. "Walter wanted Fox to talk to him. I think he'll
be talking now. Let's just get this boy up and back to the house, I
suppose. That's a mighty sore looking bottom. I'd pretty much
reckon he's all ready learned his lesson anyway." 

* * *
Upstairs, Walter lowered Mulder to the soft bed, pulling the warm
elder-down quilt up around his shoulders. 

"So . . .sorry, Master." Mulder whispered around his still
chattering teeth, keeping his eyes anywhere but on his Master. "I
guess I freaked out, huh?" 

Skinner took the younger man's chin in his large hand and pulled
his face around, "We need to talk about what happened in that
warehouse, Fox." 

"What's to say? I'm just thankful you weren't hurt. One more
narrow escape from the Spooky Mulder fan club." 

Skinner looked at the man incredulously, "You think it was your
fault? That you're to blame for what happened to you." 

"For what happened to us? In a word, yes, it was my fault.
Everyone who stays with me, gets hurt. When we get back to DC,
I'm leaving." 

"Leaving what? The bureau? Me?" 

"Yes." 

Skinner eyed the man lying on the bed, finally nodding his head in
agreement. "You know, that plan just might actually work." 

Mulder nodded his head, hoping against hope that Skinner could
not see the tears that were forming in his eyes. He turned his head
toward the wall, only to have his chin grasped fiercely and his eyes
forcefully brought back to face Skinner's angry, brown eyes. 

"Like I said, it might just work . . . if you weren't my slave. You
aren't going anywhere boy. Try it and I'll find your sorry ass, drag
it back home and I guarantee that you won't be able to sit down on
it for a month. End of discussion." 

"But I . . ." 

"You listen to me, slave boy, you're going over my knee tonight
for running off with Krycek. Do you really want to make this
worse on yourself by telling me you're planning to run away?" 

"What? That's not fair! Why do I get a spanking for going after
Cancerman, but Alex doesn't?" 

"Because YOU are MY slave. YOU belong to ME. And I keep
hoping that if I paddle your butt often enough, one day Alex will
say 'Hey Mulder, let's go see if we can get ourselves killed' and
you'll have the presence of mind to say, 'No thank you, Alex. I
don't want to get another spanking from my Master'. I know it's a
lot to hope for, but it's still my dream." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Sorry you're going to get a spanking or sorry you ran off with
Krycek?" 

"Neither. Well, both actually," Walter watched as tears formed in
the long lashes. "I let you down in that warehouse." 

Walter gathered the younger man into his arms, rubbing his back
as it shook with silent sobs. "Just how do you figure that? If
anything, I'm the one you let you down. I couldn't stop what they
were doing to you. Hell, I even helped them." 

Mulder shook his head against Skinner's warm chest, "You did
everything you could under the circumstances. No one could have
handled it any better. But me? All that screaming I did, and after
only three stokes. You must have been so ashamed of me, and I
want you to know how sorry I am." 

"Oh, Fox," Skinner felt his own eyes tearing up as he held the
distraught man tightly against his chest. "I could never be
ashamed of you. You're a brave and honorable man. You make
me proud every day of my life." 

"You aren't just saying that to shore up my manly ego?" 

"You ego doesn't need shoring up. Now lay down and get some
rest." 

"Make love to me, Master, please." 

Skinner looked down into sad, wounded hazel eyes. How could he
refuse a request like that? 

"Okay, get up and get over my knee." 

"What? I said make love not . . .why?" 

"Several reasons, slave boy. First you're going to get your bottom
warmed for ditching Uncle Hugh, so it might as well be now. I
know your bottom is healed enough, I saw how it took that
strapping in the barn. Second, I'm your Master and I enjoy feeling
you wiggle under my hand. It turns me on. And last but not least,
I want to feel your hot, freshly spanked bottom pressed up against
me as I claim you for myself." 

Mulder stared at his master but the man was smiling and rubbing
his hands together in anticipation. There would be no reprieve
there. Mulder threw back the covers and climbed out of bed,
waiting patiently while his overly-eager Master seated himself. He
then lowered himself face down over his Master's knees. 

Skinner shifted the naked man around until he was satisfied that he
had a tempting lapful of bare, spankable butt just waiting for a
good dose of his hard, right hand. He raised the hand and brought
it down with six sharp slaps on the soft underside of the
unprotected bottom. 

"What is this spanking for?" Skinner asked his gasping slave. 

"Ouch! For running off to find Cancerman." 

The big hand peppered down on the exposed cheeks, creating a
bright crimson blush in their wake. Mulder tried desperately to
hold back his yelps. He didn't want the other men in the house to
know that he was being punished up here. 

Six more hard slaps right on the tender area where bottom joined
to thigh, and a distressed cry finally escaped Mulder's compressed
lips. 

"That's it, slave boy. I want you to shout. Uncle Hugh knows I
went easy on you in the barn. It's only fair that he also know you
won't be sitting all that comfortably at breakfast in spite of my
leniency with his strap." 

The slaps came hard and fast now, covering every inch of the
condemned area. 

'What else is this spanking for, slave." 

"I lied, Ouch! Ah! Oh! . . .to Uncle Hugh." 

Six more hard slaps, three to the center of each already flaming
cheek. Walter stopped for a moment, his hand lying on the hot,
squirming butt cheeks. 

"That's not like you, Mulder. Why did you leave after you
promised Uncle Hugh you'd stay here until I returned?" 

"Uh, Alex said . . . Ah-h-h-h! Ouch! Oo-o-o-oh!" 

"You're mine! Don't listen to Alex, Fox." 

"Ah-h-h-h-h! Ouch! Yes sir! Ouch! I won't, Master!" 

"What other reason do I have for spanking you, Fox." 

"Uh . . .Ah! Ouc-c-ch! Please! Uh, because you are my Master
and . . .No-o-o-o! Oh! You want to.?" 

"Very good, slave boy. I'm your Master, so only I have the right to
cause you pain or pleasure, isn't that right?" 

"Oh-h-h-h! Yes! Ah-h-h! My bottom's on fire, Master! Ouch!
Please stop! Oh!" 

One more hard slap to the reddest part of the right cheek. "Who
do you belong to, Fox?" 

"Ouch! You! I belong to you, Master!" 

Another equally hard slap to the same spot on the left cheek. "Say
it again, slave." 

"Oh! Ouch! I belong to you, Master!" 

"Now, Fox my hand has gone over every bit of your flesh that was
punished by Spender. I have put my mark on you and erased his.
You are mine. It's as if he never touched you with that paddle.
Do you understand?" 

"Yes, Master. I understand, I belong to you." 

Skinner gave his slave a moment to pull himself together, then
stood up bringing the young man with him. He pulled Mulder
back against his chest, his hot wet mouth roaming over neck, jaw
and ears. 

"Who loves you, Fox?" 

"You do, Master." 

"Yes I do." Walter brought his hands around, tweaking already
hard nipples. Hands sliding down to roam over as much warm,
pliant skin as possible. 

"Why do I spank you, Fox?" 

"Be . . .because you love me, Master." 

That hot mouth was driving Mulder crazy. It was everywhere,
kissing, licking, sucking, making him so hot he was shaking with
his need for his Master to love him. "Please, sir." 

"I killed them, Fox." 

Mulder couldn't think straight, not with those hands and that
mouth giving him a bad case of sex stupid, most of his blood flow
now south of his navel. "Who, Master?" 

"Those men who dared to touch what was mine. They died hard,
Fox. Anyone who touches you will die hard. You belong to me." 

"Yes, Master. I belong to you." 

Skinner arranged his dazed slave with his knees on the edge of the
bed, head resting in his arms. He pulled the lube and condom
from his pocket, making sure his eager slave was well prepared
before he granted him his request. Mulder gasped as he was
entered slowly. So slowly and carefully it was making him crazy.
He tried to buck back on the big shaft that was filling him but got a
stinging slap to his sore bottom for his efforts. 

"Be patient, boy. I'm going to touch you in every spot that those
men dared to touch you. You are mine and I will wipe out every
trace of them from you body. By the time I'm finished with you,
slave boy, when you think of sex it will be visions of me doing this
to you. You will never think of those two rapist again." 

"Ye . . .yes, Master." 

Slowly, in and out. Touching the prostrate on the in glide, then
Mulder's muffled whimpers as he pulled himself almost all the
way out. Paused. Then pushed himself slowly in again until he
could feel a hot, well-spanked butt settle against his stomach. 

"Please Master. Pl-l-l-lease." 

"If you come, brat, I'll take you back out to that barn and show you
what that old strop can really do to a naked boy's butt." 

Mulder thought it would never end. Slowly in and slowly out, only
to repeat the whole thing again until Mulder was dripping with
sweat, nearly sobbing with his need for release. Walter leaned
over his slave's slick, hot back and said the one word the man had
been longing to hear. 

"Now." 

Mulder didn't remember much after that. The ecstasy filled his
body, filled his soul until there was nothing left of him but pure,
glorious sensation. He thought he heard his Master scream his
name but the black stars were dancing in front of his eyes and the
buzzing in his ears was too loud. And then there was nothing. 

When he came to, he was cradled in his Master's arms. Warm,
brown eyes smiling down at him. "You're certainly good for my
ego, slave boy." 

"I didn't know that was where you ego was located, Master." 

"Brat." 

Mulder curled up against his Master's warm, safe chest, sleep
tugging at him relentlessly. "Thank you, Master." 

Mulder felt the warm kiss on his hair and the whispered , "My
pleasure slave boy," before he drifted into a deep, healing sleep. 

The End Chapter 13